Manipulation
by maroongrad
Summary: Playing with Renfield's mind had been a disaster. Harker was less so, but still traumatized. Now Dracula has Van Helsing to manipulate into getting exactly what he wants. At least, that's what he expects...but a certain Dutchman is more clever and strong willed and determined than a crafty vampire accounted for! Not complete after all...Chapter 3 has been extended.
1. Chapter 1

(Dracula's viewpoint)

Well, this was...embarrassing. He hadn't been caught so off-guard since, hmm...never? But the human had detected him, hunted him, found him, chased him, and, finally, caught him. Instead of being killed, he'd been drug back to England, asleep in his coffin the entire trip.

An interesting trick, that. Where HAD the human learned it? Probably the same place where the man had learned how to control a vampire! Rudimentary control, something easily broken in a few more days with a bit more time to recover and a meal. What he needed was that recovery time and that meal.

Neither appeared to be forthcoming. He'd woken up, in amazing, breathtaking agony from the removal of the stake that had kept him asleep and inert for weeks. And he'd woken up severely constrained. Almost every single ability, abilities he'd used with thoughtless ease for centuries, was out of reach! Barely out of reach, and he'd set his meager resources to freeing up (successfully!) the most useful of them. And using those resources had set the rest quite firmly out of reach. For now.

And what now? The conversations he could overhear weren't promising. Correction...they were quite promising...promising an extent of discomfort he had absolutely no intention of experiencing. The handful of men spoke freely around him. His entire mind and body had been so still and so damaged that they assumed he was unconcious. Not hardly; simply resting, recuperating, thinking, planning, plotting, and shamelessly eavesdropping. Removing the stake had brought him back to temporary conciousness, lasting only a few agonizing moments before the Sun and damage had pushed him right back to sleep. But he'd only been asleep. And now he was awake, feigning sleep quite successfully, and learning far more than he really wanted to know.

Drat.

No, he was no science experiment for them to practice upon. No, no, not, never. That's what they planned for this vicious monster when it arose, hm? Well, he couldn't fake sleep forever. And he wasn't up to breaking those restrictions, not yet. Give him a nice hot fresh meal and it would end with a ghoul and a completely recovered and free vampire, as long as said vampire had a few hours afterwards to tinker with and test and break all those little piffling spells the humans had wrapped around him.

Humans. If he ever met a decent spellcaster among them, he'd go dance in the sun for a bit. By the time they got the experience and built up a good repetoire of power to actually DO something with magic, they'd gotten too old and senile to accomplish a damn thing. These weren't strong, but there were just so damned many of them! It was like fighting his way from from a coccoon of strings. Easy enough to snap each one, or even several at a time, but there were HUNDREDS of the bedamned things. Every single spell, charm, cantrip, and enchantment that Van Helsing could find had been used if it had the slightest possibility of helping. It wouldn't be too surprising to find one on him that was supposed to cure bad breath or remove warts.

What to do to keep from being poked, prodded, poisoned, and pestered until he'd gotten a decent meal, a rest, and his freedom?

And what to do AFTERWARDS? Getting his freedom and killing the household would give him a nice full belly, plenty of power...and then he'd still be stuck in England (and where the HELL on that damned island was he, anyways?), with a limited supply of soil, a coffin that he had nowhere convenient to hide, no one to protect and guard him during the day, and a small group of people that knew exactly what he was and how to catch him. Figuring out where he was, not too much of an issue. Finding those damned Harkers, Seward, and Lord Godalming would be an absolute pain in the neck. And Godalming had the resources to pour into a vampire hunt, and to make it successful, too.

No, he was not going through this again. Damn, damn, damn. In nearly five centuries, this was a completely novel experience for him. And one he'd rather not repeat.

And he couldn't stay here. It wouldn't take long for even stupid sheep to realize that the entire household had been massacred. If he just ate Van Helsing, then the household would recognize this. Eating the entire country had its attractions, but realistically...not feasible. And if he didn't eat Van Helsing, he'd be stuck with that man hunting him, and risking a repeat of this very embarrassing situation.

But wait. Van Helsing probably had no real idea what the effect of all those spells would do. He hadn't expected them to result in a moderately irritated temporary captive, after all. If he could convince Van Helsing that he was harmless, delay the man's attempts to start investigating his body and abilities...he'd have plenty of time to fully recover, remove those annoying magical bindings, and learn enough about the situation and location to start doing some serious planning and plotting.

Even better, he hadn't played with a human's mind in a very long time. A year ago, he'd have been so rusty at it that he'd have failed miserably. Breaking Renfield's mind, twisting Harker's mind, had taught him much about English and educated mindsets and thinking patterns. He learned from his mistakes, and wouldn't be breaking any more English minds. Influencing Van Helsing to do his wishes would be a challenge but a very achievable one...if he could buy those days to recover and a few healthy meals.

Lying here wasn't accomplishing a damned thing. The lackies Van Helsing had brought in to "assist in his research" were babbling off in a side room, well away from him by the sound of it. They'd been babbling for hours, and that alone made them worth killing. The bastards were nearly as nocturnal as a vampire... the rest of the staff, Van Helsing included, had taken themselves off to bed hours ago.

Time to start playing with Van Helsing's mind and emotions, and to determine how to either get back to Rumania, or resurrect his original plan and set up a secure home here to hunt from. With a soft snort for the utter uselessness of their attempts to hold him, Dracula casually sat up, snapped the manacles from his limbs, and wandered off to find Van Helsing.

x x xx x x

(Van Helsing's viewpoint) This was an unusual dream. Knowing he was dreaming wasn't unusual. Dreaming he was waking up? Not unusual either. Dreaming that there was a large mysterious lump on his bed, huddled by his legs and hidden under the spare blanket? That was a first. Well, in a dream, it wasn't like whatever was there could hurt him. An advantage of lucid dreaming was the ability to decide to ignore any horror the mind threw at him. His mind may have intended to frighten him, but the actual result was mild curiousity. And so he leaned down, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it away.

He'd half-expected his subconcious to have provided a buxom young lady. A large pet dog from his childhood that had often slept on his bed wouldn't have been a surprise. A monster would be nearly as likely as the feminine visitor, especially considering his recent activities. With this in mind, he noted the sleeping form of Dracula with only mild surprise. Not as interesting as a willing maid or two or four, but not a bad try for his subconcious, either.

Though why his subconcious had put it in the bed while still bedraggled and filthy and scrawny, he couldn't fathom. Probably for the same illogical reason the beast was curled up against his legs, arm tossed across his shins, head pillowed on the arm, and so soundly asleep that its mouth was hanging open and drooling on the bedclothes.

Yes, it WAS much like his childhood pet, down to the drool. Far too much like his pet, and he found himself reaching down to tousel the rough gray hair. Rough? Surprisingly soft despite the grime. Why was he dreaming about the vampire being a dog? Half-expecting the vampire to morph into a dog, he continued to pet it, then sat back to watch it, thinking about his childhood dog. He hadn't thought of it in years. The vampire was moving? Apparently his subconcious didn't realize how immobile a sleeping vampire was, because this one was wriggling slightly closer, brow slightly furrowed. Amusing...and he couldn't help it, he went back to petting it, grinning at the contented sigh as the beast stretched its neck out, clearly encouraging the attention. Sleepy red eyes blinked open, half-lidded and drowsy with contentment, then sagging shut.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of his servant with a morning breakfast tray. He'd never come to grips with the English concept of breakfast (fishheads? Really?), but their teas made up for it. His toast, eggs, jam-smeared bread, and sliced tomatoes were accompanied by a steaming cup and a teapot. He'd hoped that a dream might have had something more fantastic, but a sleepy vampire wriggling up against his knees in a bid for more attention was suitably fantastic, and more would just be greedy.

Too bad the vicious bastard he'd penned up down in the basement couldn't act like this. This...was almost cute. He petted his strange dream denizen with one hand, sipping his steaming, scented, beguiling tea from the other.

It was when the butler's strangled gasp finally registered, and the sheer detail of the dream penetrated, that Van Helsing realized it was not a dream. And that fine cup of English tea splattered across the floor as he hurtled off the bed and out of reach of the monster...who responded by mumbling a bit, cracking open his eyes, and wriggling slightly before burying his face in the warm sheets Abraham had so precipitously vacated.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh, it was a good thing indeed that he didn't breathe. The face-splitting grin was buried in the pillow and invisible but muffled laughter would have given the game away. As it was, the slight influence he'd used on a groggy mind to briefly convince the man that it was a dream had worked amazingly effectively. Hiding his reaction when the man had PETTED him was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. Pure shock had helped.

Running footsteps in the hall, stressed and almost-shouted commands (trying to keep the vampire from hearing and waking? Seriously? Did the man have NO IDEA how acute a vampire's hearing WAS?), frantic babbling... Yes, he was going to start laughing if this kept up. And he'd need something more concealing than a pillow until he managed to force his expression back into a mimicry of sleepy harmlessness.

x x xx x x

"Noooooooooooooooo..." That pathetic groan could have come from any adolescent suffering through being rousted out of bed. This was no adolescent, it was a centuries-old bloodsucking monster...and it was curled up on his bed, still half-under the covers. And pulling his pillow over its head!

It needed to be safely down in the basement, shackled and chained and behind thick iron doors.

And yet... He could only shake his head. Maybe he could get it to move down there without them having to beat it into submission.

Beating it...that was dangerous, no matter how quiescent the beast appeared now. They COULD injure it into immobility, that wasn't the problem. He had silver bullets, crucifixes, the Host, a silver-tipped cane, Holy Water vials, a handful of stakes, and a clutter of protective amulets clanking about his neck and stuffing his pockets. The men racing to arm themselves and now gathering behind him were equally armed.

Somehow...he was inherently reluctant to injure the beast. Enraging it could be a terrible mistake. But he wasn't about to grab it and move it, either. With a deep breath and a prayer to God, Abraham stepped forward and swatted the vampire's rump with his cane.

x x xx x x

The man had actually STRUCK him. Right on the rear, like a recalcitrant child having a tantrum! Oh, this was rich! Should he be indignant? That was...humiliating! But with a smug smirk, Dracula recognized the effect of his constant mental manipulations. What human would ever willingly smack a VAMPIRE? He ought to tear the man apart for such an appalling act, but... Nope. That would lead to the Harkers and Arthur and Seward and a hunt and stakes and an entire inconvenient episode in his existence.

Again.

No, time to do something entirely unexpected and yet entirely in character with the harmless, ridiculously mild-mannered beast he was portraying. Van Helsing had determined he had a "child-mind", eh?

He'd SHOW that man "child-mind"!

x x xx x x

Under the bed. How in the name of all that was holy did he have a vampire under his bed? And SNIVELING. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation had him ready to either beat his head on the wall or stomp off to the wine cellar and drink himself stupid. Instead, he found himself on his knees, peering under his bed at an accusing pair of red eyes, demanding that the beast come out from under it.

Only to have it curl up tighter and mumble "No. You HIT me."

No, he'd STAKED the damned bastard! This was the most frustrating thing ever.

x x xx x x

This was more fun that Dracula had had in ages. Van Helsing looked ready to pull his hair out. It was so hard not to laugh at the man. This plump pompous dutch doctor was squatting on the floor, face red, hair sticking out at awkward angles, trying to convince him to come out from under the bed.

Maybe he would...for a bribe.

Could he get the man to entirely disarm himself in front of a vampire? Just how much influence COULD he have on this man? Would it push the human's mind too far, or push his toy human into such illogic that he'd realize what was happening?

x x xx x x

The spells had done more than contain and restrain a monster. They'd tamed it...and turned it into some combination of spoiled pet and petulant child. This was insane. But it was wary and pouting and covered in dust bunnies (a matter to be raised with the maids shortly...) and not about to come out.

"No. You HIT me."  
"I won't hit you again if you come out."  
"You will."  
"Won't."  
A smug sort of "proved you wrong" tone, and a thin white hand unfolded to point accusingly at his side. "You have THAT."

It wasn't until the cane, visible crucifix and amulets, pistol, Host, Holy Water, and pocketfuls of charms were piled well out of reach that the dusty monster deigned to squirm gracelessly out from under the bed and stand before him in gangling, dangling awkwardness. And stand. And stand. And then, finally, speak.

"Well?"

Abraham hadn't said anything because he didn't have the slightest clue what the hell to do with his monster now. Clearly, threatening it and beating it and driving it back downstairs was out of the question.

He didn't want to have to coax the damn thing out from under the bed a second time.

"Follow me."  
"Where?"  
"Back down to the cellars."  
"Why?"

Oh, dear lord above, how to answer this...  
"That's where you'll live."

"I'm not alive."  
"FINE. Then that's where you will BE STAYING."  
"Oh."

Abraham turned to walk away, too frustrated with the beast's simplicity to be wary or frightened. The men, however, dodged out of the way and down the corridor as they spotted his stormy expression coming their way. The vampire simply trailed a few steps behind him.

"Is there a bathing room there?"  
"A BATHING ROOM? Why, pray tell, would there be a BATHING ROOM in the BASEMENT?"

And then the vampire stopped dead in the hallway, halfway between his bedroom and the basement door.

"But...how will I get CLEAN?" Distressed, the vampire was now brushing its dusty hands on its pants, dislodging the occasional dust bunny from grey hair with the motion.

It WAS a mess. Bloody and dirty from the capture, now filmy with dust, and shifting from foot-to-foot in a fussy state of distress at the situation. Some of the filth was now on HIS bedclothes but you couldn't tell from looking at the beast that any of it was missing.

x x xx x x

This...was too much fun. Abraham had his back to him, head down, shoulders hunched forward, visibly restraining himself from turning around and shouting obscenities. Delightful. Leaning down to fussily fail at cleaning his battered boots at least gave a chance to let that grin out unseen for a fleeting moment. It had nearly hurt, holding that in.

And then the man turned, stomped back past him, muttering deliciously Dutch imprecations, and led him BACK to the bedroom...where a pleasantly furnished bathing room waited for his use.

It took a long time for Abraham to convince him to take a warm bath, but not too terribly long. He WAS uncomfortably filthy, and hedonistically enthusiastic about a hot, scented, luxuriant soak. He just didn't let Van Helsing see that. Clean clothes, too? Excellent. Good ones, too, straight from Van Helsing's own closet.

Although he fussed about how they didn't match just to watch Van Helsing's face turn an even more amazing shade of red.

x x xx x x

It was nearing dawn but the damnable monster WOULD NOT hurry in the slightest. It was tractable, finally, following him obediently down the hallway, but...it trudged. It was constantly distracted by portraits on the wall, a shiny gaslight fixture, keyholes... Every damned keyhole, it seemed, had been peered through. And questions.  
"Who is this?"  
"Where does this go?"  
"How old are you?" (where the hell did THAT come from?)

Abraham felt more like a sheepdog nipping at the heels of an oblivious sheep than a successful vampire hunter and was more than slightly frazzled by the time he finally got his laggard beast safely down into the dark.

It followed him down the stairs without issue, up to the door of the cell he'd designated as its abode, calm and quiet and finally unquestioning. Maybe the daylight had muted it? Almost anxious, Dracula stepped past him through the iron-bound doorway, past the iron-barred door...and stopped dead. TWO MORE INCHES and Abraham would have been able to close the door! TWO INCHES. Wide red eyes stared in near-panic at the empty room.

"I CAN'T SLEEP HERE! WHERE IS MY HOME?"

It took three men and another dozen minutes to get the coffin in the cell with the vampire. He'd sworn only a day before that it wouldn't get the coffin until it was broken to his control.

He hadn't pictured a worried, fretful child-vampire on the verge of tears due to not having its coffin.

He had expected it to settle quickly into its coffin, close its eyes, and finally sleep.

He hadn't expect it to fussily adjust the coffin to its own absurd standards. First, it was turned with the head towards one wall, then turned the other way, then pulled across the chamber...

Dracula lay down in it, a few seconds ticked by as Abraham began to relax, thinking it had settled for the day...and then it was up again, to move the coffin a bare FINGERWIDTH to the side. The vampire stood, arms akimbo, beaming happily down at the coffin, stooped...

And began to adjust the lining. Every. Single. Lump. was carefully smoothed out, invisible bits of lint and dirt flicked off it, the lid carefully inspected. Finally, finally, when he was just about to snap at the monster for its frustratingly slow behavior (it was worse than his son had been, delaying bedtime with requests for stories, a glass of water, a trip to the toilet, another blanket, an open window, etc.), it clambered inside the coffin.

And settled itself. Then sat up, scooted down a miniscule amount, and settled again.

x x xx x x

He was so tired. He could have gone to sleep a quarter-hour previously but Van Helsing was so angry he could nearly see that man steaming! It was too lovely a situation to let it go to waste due to simple sleepiness. Finally, though, he was safely encased in his final home, dark and secure, hidden from the world by four wooden sides and a heavy lid.

He could hear Abraham sigh, and waited until the slightest clank indicated that the man had grasped the door...

And then he shifted the lid of the coffin, lifting it a handspan up, moving it a hairs-width to the left, and then lowering it again.

He could HEAR that man's teeth creak as Van Helsing clenched them!

It was a battle to stay awake the last few minutes, but he did detect Abraham taking a final, deep, struggling-to-keep-his-temper breath as he himself grinned a sharp white grin in the unseen dark of the coffin. There was a grating sound as the heavy door was pulled shut, a click, the heavy thunk of a lock engaging...footsteps going down the hall.

Three...four steps...and then the man stopped.

The series of steady thumps after that were most likely Van Helsing's head impacting the wall.

The night hadn't started out very well, but really, he hadn't been this entertained in DECADES. Tomorrow he'd have to connive a nice big dinner from the man, but that would be easy enough. The man was a doctor, drawing blood was well within the human's skill range. Convincing the man to give him the blood might have been an issue had he not spent such a pleasant night warping the man's opinion of him.

He'd firmly established the impression of harmless infantile behavior. It had been carefully cultivated and then reinforced powerfully with mental manipulations. Abraham's understanding of the vicious nature of vampires had been carefully repressed, supplanted, caution replaced with frustration, respect for power exchanged with annoyance at ineptitude.

And now he was safe, secure in his coffin, that long recuperative rest waiting for him, and, tomorrow night, an almost certain meal. Abraham had gone to tear his hair out, get drunk, rant to any listeners he could locate, and otherwise react to the sheer frustration of the night.

Yep. Best. Day. Ever.

(end)

(stopping here, just assume at this point that he's wormed his way into the household, and by the time Abraham realizes what actually happened the vampire is firmly ensconced in the organization and too useful to lose...after an hour-long rant at it for the deception!)


	3. Chapter 3

*I added to Chapter 3. It was just so terribly short... but here's a much more complete chapter. Enjoy!*

"You did WHAT?" Seward's absolutely confounded expression stopped Abraham mid-rant...and Arthur's expression was a mirror image.

Somehow, what had seemed so logical at daybreak was not so logical now. Had he really been so confidently describing how he had walked, unarmed, down the hallway with his back to a hungry vampire? And left the vampire in the same room it had already escaped once? And then left his estate, full of potential victims, with said vampire?

How had he been such a fool? As his thoughts untwisted and returned to flow in their usual channels, he thought he recognized why.

"That bastard mesmerized you." Arthur was furious.

Seward was amazed he was still alive.

Abraham was just embarrassed.

x x xx x x

Oh, he was HUNGRY. He really should have connived Abraham into feeding him that morning. It had been so much FUN twisting the man's mind that he hadn't paid attention to just how starved he was and had just settled down to rest afterwards. Rested, sure, now he was wide-awake...and so was his appetite!

It was with some consternation that Dracula noticed the heavy, silver-reinforced steel manacles securing him to the wall. Ankles, wrist, neck, AND waist. Abraham had learned from the iron ones he'd shattered yesterday.

And Abraham was now waiting on the other side of the door, glaring in at him. Dracula could only sit in his coffin, lid tipped onto the ground beside him, heavy chains stretching up to anchors in the wall, stomach empty, and stare at Abraham.

He was entirely put-out by this situation.

x x xx x x

Dracula hadn't said anything. They'd all braced for the worst, hearts racing and palms sweating, as the lid of the coffin had shifted and slid onto the floor. The thin white hand had appeared, gripping the edge of the coffin...and then stopped. A few precious seconds ticked by and the tousled head of the vampire rose from the coffin.

And damned if the beast wasn't pouting.

pause...pause...

Seward tapped him carefully on the shoulder, ignoring the jump it caused, and whispered into Abraham's ear.

"Now what?"

x x xx x x

Seward. And probably Holmswood. Well, that would explain how Abraham had shaken off his influence. And the influence explained the glare being leveled at him.

He'd been caught. There hadn't been anywhere near enough time to reinforce the impressions he'd carefully established in Van Helsing. And now the man knew what he'd done...and wasn't happy about it. Oops.

Breaking loose to eat the whole lot of them just wasn't an option right now. Snapping iron restraints last night? Not a big deal. Snapping reinforced silvered steel ones...not happening. And definitely not while he was this very, very hungry and weak.

Well, they hadn't staked him...they were probably waiting to see what he'd do. He'd been caught messing about with Van Helsing's mind...they knew it, he knew they knew it...damn. Well, acting childish had gotten him a bath, clean clothes, his coffin, and the most entertaining morning he'd had in centuries.

He pushed the pout from his face and into something more appropriate to the situation...

x x xx x x

The vampire didn't look at all guilty. It didn't even look aggressive. But embarrassed and sheepish? Yep.

And then it WHINED.

"I'm HUNGRY."

And then Abraham felt a distinctive mental "nudge" urging him to feed the vampire, a need to take care of it. Would he have noticed this if he hadn't been looking for it? Maybe, maybe not.

"Stop that, vampire." The monster actually looked puzzled. "My mind. Quit influencing it." More puzzlement, then the vampire's eyes got huge, with a childish impression of surprise, and the pressure suddenly...stopped. Had the creature not even been aware that it was influencing him?

x x xx x x

Van Helsing had easily realized that he was being pushed to supply a meal. But he hadn't noticed at all that he'd been pushed to confidence! The caution and nervous energy from only a few minutes before had subsided. Good...men who were sure of themselves were often foolhardy, easier to mislead and influence than those who were well aware of their fallibility.

Van Helsing HAD caught a vampire. Confidence and self-assurance were, unfortunately, warranted. So was fear and caution when dealing with HIM.

Good thing he could remove those, wasn't it?

x x xx x x

Arthur and John might have been an issue, but they'd mostly watched, bemused by the interaction. Dracula had whined and pouted and been stubbornly insistent that he was HUNGRY. The beast hadn't even tried to break the chains.

Abraham HAD tried to question the vampire. Mostly he got confused looks back, or very obvious answers.  
"How long have you been a vampire?"  
"Since I died." And it was hard not to believe that the vampire was just as childish and literally as it seemed. And, like a child, full of childish questions.  
"Why did you shave your beard?"  
"How big is this house?"

And, perpetually..."Can I have some blood?"

Abraham gave up when he heard a choked-off snort of humor behind him. Whirling, he stomped off to stare at the wall, head resting on the chill surface he'd been near-beating it on that morning.

"Let's go." he summoned John and Arthur with a wave of his hand from where they stood gazing through the door at the childish, worried monster as it fretted about its hunger.

x x xx x x

Pair of interfering humans or not, he WOULD be eating tonight. Abraham was fairly well primed, but no blood was yet forthcoming. And he WAS hungry. Being up so long past dawn after a major healing and fighting all those nuisance little spells had drained him. A lot. Frustrated and tired, he sat in the coffin, back to the wall, knees up against his chest and chin resting on crossed arms. It was a harmless looking pose...and one that required minimal effort to keep. He was tired. Damned if he planned to exert himself.

He let a pout show on his face as the men turned to leave, no plan to get him his dinner even being DISCUSSED as a POSSIBILITY. Infuriating.

And then Arthur looked back over his shoulder as the man trailed away after Van Helsing and Seward.

x x xx x x

Stepping aside, Abraham let John thru...and no Arthur. Poking his head out the door...no Arthur in the hallways, either.

Panic set in and a pair of footsteps clattered down the hall as the men raced down it with coattails fluttering and hearts racing.

x x xx x x

Oh, this was goooooooood...

A healthy young man, Arthur was simply delicious. Big, burly, lots and lots of hot blood as a result...

Sigh.

He had to stop. Draining the man dry would be fantastic and was very tempting. He'd be back to full strength very quickly.

But not before Abraham showed back up. With Seward. And he'd already seen the massive amount of armament that man carried. It was pretty impressive and worrisomely effective. And getting his abilities back, such as changing to fog? He'd need that to ditch those chains quickly, and he was still cocooned with those bloody spells! Vulnerable. And odd feeling. Killing Arthur might be a very bad move.

But it was so good! Dracula couldn't stop the moan of mixed pleasure and disappointment as he pulled his teeth from the big elbow vein. A bit of pressure stopped the bleeding, and a very quiet and obedient (sadly, temporarily!) kept the pressure up.

He'd had almost four minutes with Arthur. That was enough time to force the man to open the door, come up to him, and pull up a sleeve...and ooooooooh that blooooood!

It was also enough time for Abraham to realize what had happened and come pelting back.

Wow. He didn't look happy at all.


	4. Chapter 4

(I did add to chapter 3 a few days ago)

Arthur was still standing! The door was wide open and the dazed man was visible. The vampire didn't look dazed. The bastard looked happy. Briefly. Until Abraham made eye contact with him.

Happy was replaced with surprise and then with worry. Dracula sank down in the coffin until the red eyes peeped out, topped by hair, the rest of it invisible. Abraham drug Arthur out by his arm and Seward slammed the door and dropped the bar across it as soon as the noblemen had stumble through it.

By the time Arthur had pulled out of the daze enough to talk, Abraham had verified that he had a bite on his arm. Not much blood loss, and only tiny holes. Odd. Relieving, but odd. Perhaps he didn't have to stake the beast.

He did have to spend several minutes reassurring the assistants who had witnessed the childish conversation, followed by the frantic lunge down the hallway to retrieve Arthur!

x x xx x x

He'd gotten a meal. A small one, but tasty. Abraham hadn't shot him, so that was a plus, too. He was still restrained, not so good. And still hungry.

On the whole, things were even.

If things went well, he'd be able to grab the minds of one of the babbling fools audibly milling about in the hallway and get a bigger meal. Abraham might not mind so much if one of them fed him!

x x xx x x

The three men quickly tacked the black cloth over the window, careful not to look inside lest they make eye contact with the monster.

They could still hear the indignant huff.


	5. Chapter 5

\- this is proceeding slowly. I'm fitting in the occasional few sentences here and there as time permits. With so many positive reviews and so much fun writing this, I'll keep it coming! -

His three employees had come up to report that the monster was a: still in its cell and b: blocked from view by the material.

Arthur was perfectly fine after a big mug of weak broth, but still a bit shaken by the entire episode.

John Seward was infuriated. At the monster, at Abraham for how calmly he was taking this, at himself for not watching Arthur, and even a little bit at Arthur for not wanting to kill the monster after this!

Abraham...well...he was partly annoyed at the monster (somehow, he just couldn't work up a righteous anger), relieved that Arthur would be alright (not a bit of ghouling), moderately confident that the vampire was still restrained, and utterly frustrated that the powerful vicious bastard he'd trapped a month ago was now meek and quiet and childish beyond even the child-mind it had already possessed!

At least it hadn't been aggressive. If it had been Arthur would be dead. Hell, HE would be dead. He'd have been bleeding on the bedcovers, not petting a vampire!

He wasn't sure if the results of his elaborate more-than-a-little-desperate ensorcelling were good or bad. He WAS sure that if this crap kept up he'd be a raging alcoholic within the week.

x x xx x x

With the meal inside him, Dracula took the effort to snap a few more of those restraining gossamer spell-threads. Spells was a compliment. These were nearly worthless. But Abraham had, what was that delightful English phrase... "Thrown everything but the kitchen sink at him." It was a wonder he hadn't woken to find the sink chained to his ankle!

There were so many. And with so many it was difficult to tell which spells went where. And probably unnecessary too now that he'd managed to uncover basic mind-control abilities and the capacity to be awake during the day.

To Hell with it. He mentally grabbed a handful of spells, gave them a solid yank and twist, and felt the restrictions ease just the slightest bit. It burned up the fuel he'd taken from Arthur but Abraham would undoubtedly be down to feed him at some point.

Tired and hungry, he pulled knees up to his chin and resumed brooding at the door.

That man had damned well better get down here with a decent dinner, or the next opportunity he had, he'd devour an entire person!


	6. Chapter 6

Hours. It had been HOURS. Midnight was near, the men weren't, and his stomach was empty. This was an altogether unacceptable state of affairs, and Dracula snarled into the darkness. The nearest humans were the trio of babbling idiots, again, and they were babbling, again. No one was near enough to hear him, and dammit, this was frustrating. He felt a little better after voicing his frustration in a snarl that promised a world of pain to whomever was unlucky enough to hear it.

More frustrating, that was NO ONE.

Well, if asking nicely (and that had required more internal fortitude than Van Helsing was likely to appreciate) hadn't worked. Stealing a meal off Arthur had been even nicer but even the unaggressive pose he'd taken afterwards hadn't gotten him any more blood. Threatening was the natural next step. Threatening with chains on was just dumb.

Perhaps pathetic would work?

x x xx x x

"It is WHAT?"

"Err... whining...sir."

Whining. At least this time it wasn't under the bed.

"It is a trap. He's trying to fool us, Abraham."

"Dracula does not whine..."

They both argued with Abraham, trying to convince him how dangerous the monster was. Abraham just sat at his desk, head in his hands, staring blindly down.

Whining. What the bloody hell HAD those spells done to the vampire? He'd rushed, he hadn't used 90% of the damned things ever before, he had just done as much as he possibly could as fast as he could over the entire boat ride back and had been casting the last few as the men carried the coffin down the stairs.

Needless to say, he hadn't gotten to do any real testing or research.

Well, he knew what they had done. They'd turned a vicious, violent, aggressive wolf into a whiny needy lapdog, the sort that you'd want to punt the fourth or fifth time it widdled on your slippers.

"It whines. Now." A heartfelt sigh. "Please arm yourselves and come watch and listen. Dracula...you saw earlier. And Arthur it only took a bit of blood with a tiny bite. A vampire can easily rip an arm off, and drain an adult human dry. Dracula...I don't know. I just don't know." And with his own voice picking up a faint and personally annoying touch of whine, Abraham shut up, grabbed the heavy ring of keys, shoved his chair under the desk, and stumped back down the basement stairs in a foul mood.

At least the muted, pathetic keening miserable just-audible-enough-to-annoy whine stopped cold, as soon as the door at the base of the steps thudded shut behind them.

( yes, I refer to Dracula as "it" from Abraham's viewpoint. There are two reasons for this. One, Abraham sees Dracula as a monster, not a person, and refuses to begin to ascribe any human or even living traits. It's much easier to chain up an "it" than a "he." The second reason is much more basic. Do you have any IDEA how hard it is to right a sentence like "He looked at him" and have it remotely clear which character is doing the looking? So...lazy writer! )


	7. Chapter 7

Cloth pulled back. Three pairs of angry, cautious human eyes met the faded red ones of a monster.

Seconds ticked past.

More seconds.

Just as Abraham took a deep breath to speak...the monster spoke.

"I'm HUNGRY..."

It was very hard for Dracula not to grin when Abraham let that breath out with a whoosh, closed his eyes, and thunked his forehead against the window bars. Dracula just sat quietly in his coffin after his subdued complaint, Seward and Holmswood glared, and Abraham, not for the first time in the last few days, wondered how the hell he'd gotten himself into this situation.

Seward made eye contact a little too long and Arthur's rough shaking stopped him before he could pull the door open and go in to the cell.

Dracula's whine at being thwarted had a touch of frustration with the disappointment.

Abraham pulled his head up to look closely at the monster. Dracula did look very thin. No, skeletal. It looked skeletal. Wispy hair, bony hands, pathetic expression...was that drool? It was DROOLING after trying to eat Seward? Arms wrapped around its legs, the vampire...slumped. The shaggy head turned to the side, half-buried in the arms, face no longer visible but the plaintive "huuuuungry" was just audible.

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit god dammit dammit!

Unless and until he fed the creature it would just keep trying to eat people. And at some point, maybe the first meal, maybe the tenth, it would be a lot more serious than just a bit of wooziness, two pinprick holes in the elbow, and a few minutes of missing memory.

A little blood. Yes, he'd give it enough, enough to stop that damned whining which was currently dragging nails up a mental blackboard. Not enough to come anywhere near full strength, but enough.

x x xx x x

The bright gas lights had made his expression far too visible. Hiding his face had been necessary. Gripping his legs had kept him from quaking with repressed laughter, at least not visibly.

Pushing that whine out of a mouth stretched wide in a grin was much more difficult than convincing Abraham to finally get that damned meal...and Arthur and Seward to observe rather than advise.

This was nowhere near as fun as the morning had been. Then again, he'd only gotten started on working Abraham up into an apopleptic fit, and he had over half a night ahead of him.

He still wasn't happy about being captured. Nope. Not happy. But it was almost, almost worth it to see his captor so frazzled!


	8. Chapter 8

The bottle of blood was pushed just within reach of the monster. Dracula eyed it intently, and Abraham quickly backed out of the cell. The vampire quivered like a well-bred bird dog on point, but didn't so much as twitch towards the blood. Bar dropped into place, door secured, Abraham finally relaxed enough to give permission.

Permission. All three of them had been near-befuddled by the agreeable tractability of the beast. None had expected it to remain tractable with blood in front of the emaciated monster!

"Now."

Dracula flashed across the short distance to the bottle, barely more than a blur. Scrambling spidery fingers brought the bottle top to the gaping, fang-filled, drooling maw as they braced themselves for the horror of watching a monster dine on human blood.

The beast was so voracious Abraham expected the bottle to empty in moments.

Moments later said bottle was nearly full and the vampire's face had crumpled.

"IT'S COOOOOOOLD!"

x x xx x x

Really, cold blood was perfectly fine, even a bit of a nice change from the norm. But as he'd picked it up and registered the cool surface of the bottle...

He had to. Hungry or not, he really could not resist.

A little oil camping stove warmed a pan of water, which in turn warmed the bottle of blood.

Abraham fumed.

Dracula had curled back up, face tucked against knees, with the occasional, unpredictable, sporadic, barely-there whimper. He could HEAR the man's teeth creak each time.

Oh, he was hungry. But it was definitely worth the delay! 


	9. Chapter 9

Every time they'd given him a new bottle (warmed, now...) he'd used the bulk of the energy to rip apart yet more spells. Not all of it, some had gone to darken his hair and restore his body. Slightly. Enough to encourage Abraham to give him more, not enough to make the man think he'd had anywhere near enough to eat. Even when the warm blood was put in a warmed bottle, by the time it was to him, it was slightly cool.

So he'd fuss.

And gain a few more minutes to snap a few more spells. He was nearly done.

x x xx x x

"That is it. No more blood." Abraham had meant to be firm and unyielding but the vampire's face had simply crumpled. And he'd questioned the beast, to get the same vaguely earnest answers as before. He'd determined that the vampire wasn't a virgin when it died, but finding out why not was frustrating. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the beast was doing this just to drive him batty. As it was, he clenched his jaw on a few choice swear words before they could slip out!

And interspersed among the answers? "Can I have more blood now?" "You said later, it's later, can I have a bottle?" "I'm huuuungry" "What about now?" and on and on and on.

The beast had barely moved. It hadn't said anything but Abraham suspected it was very tired or very weak still. When it wasn't being questioned, the tousled head (hair no longer so light nor thin) would droop and rest on the knees. Getting its attention back on him could take a few seconds, the beast unfocused.

It might have been distracted except what on Earth could be distracting it? Most likely it was simply tired.

And so he caved in and went to get a single additional blood draw. The three assistants had helped draw and donated, he and Seward had contributed a bit, even the butler. Not much from any of them, less than 2 liters (or quarts, as he was in England). Another few mouthfuls of plasma and the beast would be done for the night.

x x xx x x

Dracula smiled slightly to himself. He was nearly done.

And then Abraham returned with a final half-bottle of blood. He took the warmed container eagerly, hands mock-trembling with mock-fatigue and mock-excitement at the meal. He sucked it down with deliberately quiet little whimpers of pleasure and need, noticing that Abraham and the others were entirely suckered. Abraham was also frustrated, stymed, annoyed, and ready to kick something. Lovely.

Humans were so gullible.

And the last few strands were now snapped. The men stood outside the room, watching him through the door. Even now, they were cautious. It wouldn't help. He didn't intend to badly injure or ghoul them but he did intend to amuse himself with their terror.

He grinned at them, a great sharp grin, full of teeth, every sham bit of weakness and confusion shattered. A moment to take stock of himself, his body, their fear...and then he became mist.

Mist that flowed out of the restraints, across the floor, to the door...

That bastard!

The door, and as he found out, every single wall, the ceiling, the floor...he couldn't go through them. At all. The bastard must have blessed them, doused them with Holy Water, lined them with silver, or SOMETHING. A few minutes of swirling about the room, uselessly seeking an exit before reforming in the center to glare at his captor.

x x xx x x

"I listened when you said he was tricking me. I was sure you were wrong. But I listened. And I knew this room would hold him."

The three of them left to go upstairs, cloth again draped over the door's window, the sound of angry and frustrated Romanian muttering pure music to Abraham's ears.

He'd go back down tomorrow night, lay down the law for the vampire, see what it would try then. But right now? The alcohol he was going to consume would finally be to CELEBRATE instead of cope!


End file.
